


Afterlife

by Bluspirit92



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Identity Issues, Loss of Identity, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 09:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5824180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluspirit92/pseuds/Bluspirit92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fisk takes the deal. And Matt Murdock dies so that they can live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afterlife

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a little au coming out of the end of Daredevil vol. 4. I'm not sure how necessary it is to have read that. But basically, Fisk takes Matt up on his offer of Matt dying, and everything is sad.

He touches his face, tracing a finger down the line of his nose, looking for differences. He’s been doing that a lot lately. But it isn’t like he can look at it. And he’s curious. 

He has never thought of himself as particularly vain. Of all his sins, that was a fairly minor one. And he had never really truly known what he looked like. But now it mattered. It mattered when it wasn't his face he was wearing anymore. 

His nose feels different now, his cheekbones too, but he has no idea how that would translate into actual appearance. He doesn't let himself think that this new concentration on his looks is because he wonders what someone he used to know would see if they looked at him now. He definitely doesn’t let himself think of whether Foggy or Kirsten would recognize him. Not ever. 

He never thinks about them, unless to thank god they’re alive and safe. He never regrets his decision. (he’s lying to himself) 

 

He spends most of his time as Daredevil now. It’s easier. That part of him is still real, still alive. He’s seen other superheroes, former teammates, friends. It’s been awkward. They don’t like this new Daredevil person, think he’s an impostor, an insult to Matt Murdock. And they’re not wrong. But they don’t know the whole story. 

He’s back in New York now, which is nice. But he’s not the same person anymore. It doesn’t quite feel like home anymore. And he can’t say that’s what hurts the most, but it hurts a whole damn lot. 

What hurts the most is probably Foggy and Kirsten. They’re here too now, because Fisk loves to hurt him and pulled some strings. He knows where they live, where they work, everything he needs to torture himself with the ability to talk to them. To be near them. To have them look at him like a stranger. 

So he alternates between being the impostor Daredevil and the crazy blind homeless guy who feels the need to poke at his own bruised face. 

And neither is him. Because he’s dead. 

They’re alive though. They’re happy, at least he thinks so. And that helps. A little. (he’s lying to himself) 

He’s been doing a very good job avoiding them. Avoiding most people who knew him. It’s not perfect, but sometimes he’s seconds away from just breaking down, screaming everything and getting them all killed, so this is the safer option. 

But he can’t account for everything (and maybe he isn’t trying to). The only thing he can control in this situation is himself. Avoidance doesn’t work when someone runs into you. 

 

Something bumps into his leg, and he feels someone fall forwards slightly. “Crap, sorry,” a fast apology comes from above his place on the sidewalk. 

And he can’t say anything. He isn’t allowed, he doesn’t trust himself. What does he look like to Foggy? Who does he see when he looks at him? 

“You okay? I didn’t hit you too hard, did I?” he sees nothing. He hears no recognition. This is good, he tells himself. No death today. But no friends either. 

“Do you need any help? I’m really sorry, you just seem super out of it. Can I get you like, a coffee or something?” Foggy is stumbling over his words, and he probably doesn’t mean it. 

But he loves to make life hard for himself (he always has). So he speaks. 

“I-” his voice sounds different even. He’s spoken as little as possible so far, to avoid how wrong it feels to hear someone else’s voice and know they’re his words. “I’d love a coffee.” 

“Yeah, man, of course. Was just going to get one myself,” Foggy takes his arm gently and pulls him up. 

He doesn’t know what to say. What to do. Foggy is leading him down the street, and it’s like he’s alive again. 

“What’s your name? I’m Foggy,” 

He already knew that. And he can’t say anything. Can’t give him the lie, can’t give him the truth, because even he doesn’t even know which is which anymore. 

So he gapes for a bit, struggling with words. He doesn’t need to see to know Foggy smiles, even though a strange man being unable to tell you his name should be worrying. 

“It’s cool, buddy,” 

“You, you’re good at this,” that wasn’t what he’d meant to say. 

Foggy takes it as a comment on his leading, though the speaker is not sure if that’s how he meant it. “Yeah, my best friend was blind,” Foggy sounds sad now, not welcoming. 

And he is vain, oh so vain. Because he wants to know about the best friend. Wants to know how much of the story Foggy knows. Wants to know if he made the right choice. (sometimes he thinks he didn’t. Only sometimes) 

“Was?” he asks, because he can’t help hurting himself. Can’t help hurting Foggy. 

“He died.” and that seems the end of this line of conversation. 

“A hero. He died a hero, saving us. But that doesn’t make it hurt less. I miss him, y’know,” Foggy adds after a minute and he feels something inside him snap. 

He’s crying, and running, and leaving, and he left Foggy again, but he can’t do this anymore. He thought he was stronger. He thought it’d take more than a few words. 

But he can’t do this anymore. 

He needs to go and fight. Help people. He needs to feel like himself again.


End file.
